The Cheerleader in the Dump
by mag31
Summary: Booth and Brennan investigate the murder of a young woman, and soon they discover they are dealing with a serial killer case. The story takes place right after Santa in the Slush. Possible B&B.
1. Prologue

_**A/N : **__**I thought this would take longer but I'm happy to present you my new story! As I said, B&B will deal with a serial killer. I'll do my best to work the case with as many details I'm able to, it not the easy part but I'm always trying to improve! The prologue is NOT the beginning of the story. I just felt like doing this kind of preview. I hope you won't be too confused. Good reading!**_

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**Prologue**

* * *

Temperance Brennan slowly woke up with the feeling that something was unusual. She tried to remember what she had done the night before, and was slightly annoyed when it happened to not be that easy. Had she been working late? She didn't think so. Writing for her novel at home? No memory of that. Gone out with Angela? Suddenly some images flashed in her mind. The bar, the music. Yes, she had gone out. Not with Angela, though. She began to remember faces. In particular, the faces of the people she had talked with. Mostly men. But she had no memory of Angela being around.

Of course not. She had been in this bar _for the case_.

She sighed in relief. Everything was clearer, now. She hated to wake up and be unable to know what day of the week it was.

But more disturbing was the realisation that she didn't remember leaving the bar. She didn't remember whether they had made progress in the case. She didn't remember talking with her partner before coming back home. She didn't even remember _how_ she had come back home. Somehow, this was no good.

She opened her eyes and sat up abruptly, pushing back the covers, and her heart skipped a beat. These were not her sheets. This was not her bed. This was not her room.

She covered her mouth with both hands in shock, trying to figure out where the hell she could possibly be. Had she hung out with a man? There was no man in the bed. Maybe he had woken up before her and walked out of the room without making a noise. But the pillow beside her didn't seem to have been used. And how came she felt so dizzy? Had she ended up drunk?

She huffed, upset and confused. It didn't feel like a hangover. She wrapped her arms around her legs, her chin resting on her knees. On the verge of tears, she couldn't help thinking of what had happened to her in New Orleans. What if all this was happening again?

A wave of panic washed through her, and she started to check every part of her body for scratches, bruises or other marks that could tell her what the hell was going on. But she didn't find anything. That's when she realised that she was still wearing her clothes. Her shoes had been left on the floor next to the bed, and she was still in her now crumpled black and white dress.

Her stress sort of lessened, while her curiosity was roused. Things were getting more confusing.

She let her gaze wander around. Although she would have sworn that she had never been in this room before—and was always proud to prove what a particularly good memory she had—something about it seemed familiar; something she couldn't explain. It had to be about the furniture, or the sheets…

Not really convinced, she lowered her eyes to the soft fabric her hands were clinging nervously to. No. It had to be about the smell. A scented candle, maybe, that would have been lit up some hours before and which fragrance she would recognise.

She glanced around, searching for said candle.

That is how her eyes met it, and she froze. The frame. She stared at it, her mouth half opened, her eyes growing wide. The face of the cute, blond little boy in the picture, she knew him quite well. His name was Parker.

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_**A/N :**__** Chapter 1 will be ready for Friday. Brennan is coming back from Peru and you'll meet one of the victims of the case. Have a nice week!**_


	2. No place like home

_**A/N : A few days and Bones is back! I can't wait, plus we were lucky to have so many spoilers lately! As promised, it's Friday, so here's chapter 1. Enjoy!**_

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**Chapter 1**** – No place like home**

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_**Friday**__**, January 4th**_

* * *

Sasha Miller had everything to be happy: A fulfilling job as a lawyer in one of the best law offices in DC, a big, luxurious apartment with an incredibly huge walk-in closet full of designer outfits, and even a beautiful, loving Persian cat. She had beauty, she had money, and she had success; however, she had no one to share it with. And at 32, it represented a big hole in her life. That's why tonight she decided that she had better go meet Prince Charming, for she didn't feel like waiting for him forever.

Entering the bar, she felt confident in her Yves Saint Laurent dress, and was quite satisfied with the way she had managed to do her straight, black hair. She beamed when she glanced around, for the place was crowded with handsome men. She smiled and laughed all night long, for she hadn't been having such a good time in what seemed an eternity. And she was on cloud nine when she went out of the bar, walking with pride beside an elegant man in his thirties.

She was so happy that she forgot her number one love rule: Never to accept going to his place on the first date. Either she had been drinking too much, or she had become a woman of easy virtue, because she jumped in his car without an ounce of hesitation instead of taking a taxi, and didn't think twice when he offered her a last drink at his apartment.

Everything in the sequence of the evening was so much better than what she had hoped for, and everything about this man seemed so perfect that she didn't even protest when, after he had slowly removed all her clothes thus submitting her to a both delightful and intolerable wait, he decided to tie her wrists to the posts of the bed. She had never been fond of this kind of sexual practices but this night, with this man, she didn't dare refuse; actually, she felt slightly more excited at the idea. She even let him tie her ankles; it was a little weird, but if it pleased him, why not. And she got very curious about what he was going to do when instead of taking off his own clothes like she expected him to, he opened the drawer of his night table.

However, she began enjoying this little foreplay far less when she realised that he now held a knife in his hand. She couldn't help holding her breath when he let the cold, sharp blade brush the delicate skin between her breasts before he slid it down to her belly.

"You know, I—I'm not sure I'm comfortable with all this. Maybe you could just untie me and— Or at least remove the—"

With a slight movement of her head, she directed her gaze to the knife, now on the side of her left thigh, and hoped that he'd be understanding enough not to get angry at her for her change of mind.

"I'm afraid it's too late," he teased, though she was reassured by not feeling blade against her skin anymore.

"I've always known you were this kind of girl."

She tried to move her eyes from his hand, feeling silly; but he hadn't let go of the knife and was now bringing it to her face.

"What?" she asked, trying to laugh inwardly at how stupid she was to be scared by him when she had been so horny before this little scary, yet harmless game.

"I thought you wanted to please me."

She shivered when she couldn't help noticing that something in his voice had changed. When it had been slightly trembling of what she had believed was desire, it was now more like he was threatening her. Was he one of those guys who like role playing during sex?

"I do, but—"

"You don't recognise me, do you?"

She stared at him, puzzled and nervous at the enigmatic smile he gave her.

"What do you mean, I—I don't understand, I don't remember seeing you before tonight."

"Of course you don't. Nobody did, at the time."

His gaze had changed briefly. For a couple of seconds, he had looked hurt, almost sad. But now his expression had turned hard again.

"Is it about a case? You were one of my clients, maybe?" she tried.

He shook his head as a response.

"No, of course not," she mumbled agitatedly, mostly for herself. "I always remember my clients. Are you a client's relative? You know, whatever it is that you want, I can— I'd be pleased to help you, just—"

His unreadable smile grew slightly wider. "You're far from it, Sasha. Very far from it."

Her muscles tensed unwillingly when he leaned over her, but she relaxed a little when he just whispered in her ear. He whispered his name, but as hard as she tried to remember, it didn't ring a bell. She felt his warm breath on the skin of her neck, and stopped breathing herself, until he straightened his spine to look at her.

"You recognise me, now?"

Although the answer was 'no', she nodded her head anyway, persuaded that it was the best thing to do.

"No you don't, you little liar!"

She let out a squeal when the blade dug into the mattress next to her face.

"See what you make me do?"

He took the knife out, seeming calmer.

"Admit that you don't. Say it."

"I'm sorry, I don't— I don't remember you."

"Of course you don't. You were way too obsessed with your French manicure, your fancy new car and this stupid boyfriend of yours. What's his name again?"

He stared at her; his head slightly cocked to the side, as if expecting her to answer. When she didn't, numb with panic and confused, he did it for her.

"Brad."

Right, Brad. The football player. Her boyfriend in high school. How did he know that?

"No wonder you don't remember him. You had nothing in common. He was a jackass, and you're a smart chick. Life is unfair, don't you think? You have a good job but you're all alone and desperate. What a pity for a pretty girl like you. See, you'd better have ended up with me. You, a successful lawyer, me, a wealthy investor. What a great couple we would have made."

She tried to lessen her panic trying to figure out what his point was. Surely, he was trying to scare her. It couldn't be otherwise. This kind of things only happens in movies, on television, on the news. She couldn't hold back a sob; she didn't want to be on the news.

"As I said, and I'm quite proud of that, my investment choices brought me a nice little sum. You know what I first did?"

The answer stuck in her throat, she shook her head instead.

"Well, I gave part of it to one of the best surgeons in LA. That's why, anyway, you wouldn't have been able to recognise me quite well."

The odd thing was, he didn't really seem nuts; he seemed to know exactly what he was saying, what he was doing, and why he was doing it. Assuredly, this was way more terrifying.

He took her left hand in his and inspected her long, varnished nails it for a moment before lifting his gaze to her watery eyes.

"Remember when I asked you to go to the prom with me? Well, I did anticipate a 'no', but I thought that you would at least have made an effort to invent something. Remember what you did?"

She didn't.

"You simply laughed at me."

He didn't leave her any time to recollect her memories. She howled with pain when he pulled off the nail of her middle finger.

"Oh, by the way— You can scream as much as you want, sweetheart. No worries. Nobody will hear you."

Indeed, she didn't hold back her cries when, one by one, he removed all the nails of her left hand, and she thought she would pass out when he seized her other hand. But a sudden change of mind made him immediately put it down. Panting, sobbing and moaning all at the same time, she watched him open the drawer of the night table and pull out a thin, simple string.

"You're lucky, I'm in a good mood. Or too impatient, I don't know. Anyway, I don't feel like making you wait too long."

She let out a moan of misery when he whispered a farewell in her ear. Then, ignoring her hopeless supplications, he wound the string around her neck and pulled it tight.

And only when she was desperately gasping for air, just before everything went black, she remembered the face of the boy she had laughed at in front of her friends.

* * *

Temperance Brennan pushed the door closed behind her with a kick before she dropped her heavy bulky luggage on the floor. She wasn't a soft woman but she couldn't deny how enjoyable it was to find the warmth and comfort of her apartment. She took off her shoes and collapsed into a chair. After eliminating all the tension and exhaustion of her body in a deep sigh, she checked her mail. Bank report, phone bill, electricity bill, and as everything comes in three, water bill. Merry holidays to you, too.

Huffing, she got to her feet and pressed the button of the answering machine to listen to her messages. The half-feminine, half-robot voice told her that she had one new message left on Wednesday, January 2nd.

"_Sweetie, I hope you're having fun in Peru, although I wonder how anyone can ever have fun digging up bones in the cold during the holidays, but you know I respect you for what you __do, and that I'm happy when you are. Anyway, gimme a call when you're back, okay? Talk to you soon."_

Hearing Angela's voice made her smile. She headed for the bathroom as the strident beep resounded in the room. Her clothes slid to the floor and she jumped into the shower. The hot water washed over the remaining sweat and dirt on her, gently peeling them off her body, but not the thoughts which had been tormenting her since she had left.

"_It was like kissing my brother."_

Each time she remembered the scene, she rolled her eyes at how stupid she had been. Caroline hadn't bought it, of course. How could anyone believe that? Why would such a phrase escape her mouth in the first place? Why hadn't she said something like— like— Like nothing! Why had she accepted the dare, anyway? Well, the answer was quite simple: It was the result of a rational decision. Refusing to take the dare would have proved that she was uncomfortable with the idea of kissing her partner; taking it allowed her to bring Christmas to her family. Caroline was a stubborn woman, and she seemed to be even more inflexible when she was feeling puckish. Whatever her decision, the lawyer won. It hadn't been hard to choose.

As always, she ended up blaming the woman for all the annoying things that would happen. What did she want; to mess up things between her and Booth for her own selfish enjoyment? Now, there would always be this inevitable awkwardness between them, at least for some time. She hated this idea, because it would affect them as a team. And she hated to be distracted in her work. What's more, Sweets would bring that up again with pleasure during their therapy sessions. Maybe he was in cahoots with Caroline, who knew?

She turned off the shower. Now, to cap it all, she was thinking conspiracy à la Hodgins.

She wringed out her hair before she stepped out of the tub. The towel on the floor felt soft under her bare feet. Yes, it felt good to be home.

With the side of her hand, she wiped the moisture from the mirror and stared at her reflection. But it wasn't her reflection that she was seeing; it was Booth's face, the last time she had seen him. The lights of the Christmas tree dancing on his cheeks, and this tender smile of his. She had seen it clearly, although from far. Nobody had ever offered her such a present. A present that meant something, a present that had brought her on the verge of tears. For a moment, she had felt like she couldn't hear the girls' squeals of joy anymore, or Amy's laugh. As if even the window and the distance that separated them had disappeared. But it had only lasted for a moment. She had managed to keep herself from crying, and after a last goodbye wave to her partner, she had shared with her family the best Christmas she had had in a long time. The trailer, the tree, the magic. Somehow, all this was thanks to Booth. And somehow, it bothered her.

She averted her eyes from the mirror and grabbed her hairbrush from the drawer under the sink. She untangled her hair without care, and when there was nothing more to untangle, she put the brush back where it belonged. As she dried her hair, the feeling of the hot air on the skin of her face and neck helped her to calm down. When she was finished, she slipped on a fluffy pair of pajamas and slid underneath the covers. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. A relaxed one, this time.

Definitely, there's no place like home.

* * *

_**A/N : **__**So what do you think? Does the case seem interesting so far? And what about the rest? I can't wait for Monday, to see what has changed in BB relationship after all that happened in Santa in the Sluch.**_

_**In chapter 2, I'll give you a nice scene between Booth and Parker, and for the first time, a part of the chapter will be from Cam's POV. Have a nice week!**__** But it WILL be a wonderful week as our favorite show is back!**_


	3. It's about time

_**A/N : **__**Hey everybody! Thanks so much to those who reviewed the former chapters. I'm happy to present you chapter 2! Hoping you'll have a good time reading.**_

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**Chapter 2 – It's about time**

_**Saturday, January 5th**_

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"Daddy, the meat is burnt!"

Booth couldn't help letting out an annoyed sigh at the pout his son gave him while he lifted the bread which crowned his home-made hamburger.

"Told ya, we should have gone to Mac Donald's."

Despite the exaggerated, disgusted grimace which didn't leave his face, Parker had to be really hungry for he took a bite of his hamburger and started to chew slowly.

"Hey Bud, you could at least pretend that your father's cooking is edible when I spent so much time preparing these hamburgers," Booth complained.

On purpose, he composed a hurt look, which immediately had the expected effect on Parker.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," the little boy said with his head slightly tilted to the side, before he took a bigger bit of his hamburger, without making a face this time. "Uhm… Yummy!" he lied, his mouth full, with an obvious forced smile.

Staring at his son, Booth immediately forgot his annoyance. His pink cheeks and the cute look he was giving him made him so funny and irresistible that he burst out of laughing in spite of himself.

"Don't exaggerate, Buddy, uh? I know my cooking has nothing to do with your Mom's. I just thought it'd be nice to spend the evening here, you know."

Parker shrugged. "Well… It's not that bad," he admitted with a smile.

Booth felt himself filled with bliss, pride and tenderness all at the same time. His little boy was growing up so fast. He never stopped amazing him. He wished he could be with him every day, watch his very progress, share his joys and his slightest sorrow; see him every morning, kiss him goodnight every evening. The phone was never intimate enough, and the weekends were never long enough. He just wished his son wasn't raised by strangers, but that was life, and he liked to think selfishly that he was Parker's only masculine role model.

"Can I ask you a question, Daddy?"

Startled out from his thoughts, the FBI agent realised that he had stopped eating although the hamburger was still in his hands. He took a bite before answering, thinking the steak wasn't as burnt as his son claimed, after all.

"Whatever you want, Bud," he answered with his mouth full.

"Are you in love with Bones?"

_All right__, wise guy. Anything __except_that_._ "What?" he almost choked.

"Do you love Bones?" Parker repeated louder, emphasising each word.

Booth stared a moment at his son's wide, innocent eyes, forced to the conclusion that unfortunately, he had heard him well the first time.

"Now where does that come from?" he asked with a half-amused, half-nervous laugh.

His obvious awkwardness and the crimson colour that might have flushed his cheeks weren't unnoticed by his son who giggled teasingly.

"C'mon Dad, you can tell me. I'm grown up now! I'm six and a half!" he said, sticking out his chest, acting important.

"All right then, the answer is simple: No I'm not, and why would you even think that?"

"Because of how you looked at her the other night," Parker retorted seriously, screwing up his eyes in a funny way.

"The other night?"

"When we brought the Christmas tree for her," the little boy explained as if it was obvious. "You were looking at her _exactly_ like Brent when he looks at Mom. And he says he loves her, so I figured out that you—"

"Well, I don't," he cut him off.

"—are in love with Bones," Parker finished his sentence, like he thought it was really cool to say these words.

"No," Booth replied firmly and he ate some more of his hamburger, hoping this would help hiding his embarrassment.

"And when you wished her a merry Christmas, it sounded like Brent when he's wishing Mom goodnight," the child went on, apparently not ready to drop it yet.

Booth rolled his eyes. "No, I—Wait, what?"

"You said it like that 'Merry Christmas, Bones'," the little boy tried to imitate his father, pantomiming him on the phone and looking in the distance.

Booth let out an indignant chuckle. "What are you talking about, I didn't—"

"I don't mind, you know. I like her, she's nice. And she has to be smart since she's a doctor, right?"

"Right, she's smart," Booth admitted.

"And beautiful."

"Righ— Parker… Your meal is going to be cold."

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm okay with that."

Once more, the priceless, serious look his son gave him made him laugh in spite of himself. "So now I need your approval for this kind of thing, uh?"

"Yes, you do."

"All right. Well, Bones, you know, she's my partner, and we work together," he explained. "I _like_ her, as a _friend_, but I don't _love_ her. Understood?"

"I guess so," he said sheepishly. Booth wondered whether he was disappointed about his theory being wrong, or because he secretly hoped that Bones would soon become his stepmother.

"Good. Now finish what's on your plate."

"Okay," the little boy sighed sadly as if the hope of his life had just been dashed, and he stuck his fork in his salad. But instead of bringing the food to his mouth, he raised his head and looked at his father shyly. "It's just that when you're with her, you seem happier."

Booth held his son's gaze, stunned. Parker had grown even faster than he had thought. But could a six-years-old actually understand this sort of thing? Or was he merely proving that out of the mouths of babes and sucklings comes the truth?

"No, Buddy. It's with you that Daddy's happiest, okay?"

The child beamed.

"You wanna go get an ice cream?"

Parker's smile grew wider, if it was even possible, and he put his knife and fork back on the table. "Oh yeah!"

"All right then, but on one condition."

"Okay," Parker agreed as if an ice cream was worth anything to him.

"When you see Bones again, don't mention anything of this conversation to her, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because it's… embarrassing."

"Why?"

"It's a grown-up's thing."

"Okay," the little boy finally gave in.

"Not a word to anyone?"

"Not a word to anyone," he confirmed with a mischievous smile and a finger on his mouth.

"Great," Booth grinned and rose. "You get to choose the place."

* * *

Camille Saroyan finished applying mascara on her long eyelashes. A cloud of perfume, and she was ready. Her reflection in the mirror left her satisfied. She had a date, tonight. It was about time. Her good resolution for 2008? A stable relationship. Of course, she was aware that it would take longer than one single date, but it was worth trying. The man she was about to have dinner with was a surgeon; someone she had met at a convention. A handsome African-American in his early forties. Smart, of course. Wealthy, probably. And funny. Funny was quite important. Sounded like the perfect man, but at nearly 38, she had lost her illusions—though not hope.

One thing was for sure: It was about time she decided whether she wanted to have children or not, it was about time she started to think about her future, and most of all, it was about time she stopped messing around. Most of her past relationships had been mere fun, and she had done her best never to lose her independency; now, she wasn't sure it was what she still wanted. Maybe she was ready to jump off the edge with someone now, after all. Anyway, she was ready to give it a try. If she found the right guy, good; if she didn't, then it would mean that it wasn't the right time. She had always been a realistic person, but she had always been an optimistic person, too.

Anyway, she was determined to follow through with this resolution; she had even settled some rules for herself. One; never to date younger men anymore. Just because. Two; to avoid carefully possible relationships at work. It was a big mistake. Three; fall in love. Definitely. The last time was such a long time ago that she was afraid she forgot how it felt. However, she knew someone who definitely knew how it felt. Her co-worker, ex-lover and good friend: Seeley Booth.

She let out a quiet laugh, picturing in her mind the way he looked at this woman. And the way he acted, as if nothing was going on— priceless. It was sometimes hard to keep herself from smiling, or more. She wondered whether it was possible that anyone had failed to notice it yet. It was so obvious—except for the persons most closely concerned, apparently. She wondered how long it would take for those two to realise what was going on between them. Not that she was exactly thrilled at the idea of yet another couple in her working environment—how many times had she threatened Angela and Hodgins with a bucket of cold water—but she couldn't help wishing the best for her good friend. And obviously, the best for him was a beautiful forensic anthropologist named Temperance Brennan. Of course, a relationship at work is never easy. It makes or it breaks. But it was possible. And whoever said that a relationship between such different people couldn't work was an idiot.

She adjusted the edge of her classy black dress and wrapped herself in her long, warm coat. After a last glance at the mirror and replacing a lock of hair behind her ear, she left, hoping that at the very best she'd find the man of her life, or that at least, she'd have a good evening.

* * *

He remembered this day as if it was yesterday. Just a random school day for most of his schoolmates, but for him, the day when he had asked Sasha Miller to go to the prom with him. Not some random girl, but the coolest, cutest girl of his class. Well, gorgeous was more appropriate.

"Hey Sasha, look, I think that Weirdo is coming in our direction."

"He's staring at you."

They thought that he couldn't hear their murmurs, that he couldn't see their grimaces. He always did. He was aware of everything. He was also aware that he'd get a no, but a bet was a bet, and the twenty bucks which he was about to win would complete the amount of money he was saving to go to university.

The girls held their breaths—and their laughs—as he came closer and stood right in front of Sasha. He ignored them; he just looked at her. She didn't laugh at him right away. She waited, her hands on her hips, with this haughty attitude that rarely left her. She waited, curious to hear whatever the freak needed to tell her. He asked it very fast, all in one breath, as if it was something he had learnt by heart. "Sasha, will you go to the prom with me?" And only then, she burst out laughing, and the others joined her.

Suddenly, she stopped laughing, and asked, "It's a joke, right?"

"No."

"Is it some kind of game, then?"

"No."

She had been staring at him, as if she didn't believe her ears. Then, she had shaken her head, and she was about to answer something when he had arrived. Brad, her boyfriend, the captain of the football team. That was so cliché. She had turned around, beaming at him, and he had wrapped an arm around her thin waist.

He had been able to hear them talking as they were walking away, followed by the bunch of giggling girls.

"What's with Weirdo? What did he want?"

"You'll never believe it. He asked me—" A laugh. "He asked me to go to the prom with him!"

Yes, Sasha Miller had been a gorgeous girl, and fifteen years later, she was still stunning. But beauty, such as life, is ephemeral. He liked to think that he had been the last one to touch her, and he liked to know that he had been the last one to look at her. It was about time he set things right.

As his eyes lingered on the huge black plastic bag in which she was now lying, her beauty, such as her life, now gone, he realised that he felt better. Liberated and satisfied. Though a little angry at himself. He had been too kind with this one. He had let himself give in to pity. He regretted it, now. It wouldn't happen again.

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_**A/N : Thanks for reading! Please leave me a review, it'll make my day ;) In next chapter, coming next Friday, there will be a nice and funny Brennan/Angela moment. Have a nice week-end and hooray for the return of Bones!**_


	4. Zone of truth

_**A/N : **__**Sorry people, I am one day left. But I've got excuses! The thing is, me and my boyfriend are looking for a new place so it takes time and we have to go visit houses, plus we're both busy at work. Well, I know my life is fascinating but my little finger tells me Brennan and Booth's life is more. Good reading!**_

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**Chapter 3**** – Zone of truth**

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_**Monday**__**, January 6th**_

* * *

Angela Montenegro brought the cup of coffee to her lips thoughtfully and took a few sips of the hot liquid. For once, she was excited to go back to work. Today was going to be an interesting day: Brennan was back from Peru. Not that Angela was exactly eager to hear the tale of her friend's adventures with corpses and skeletons in South America, but she was strongly determined to figure out what exactly was going on with her favorite non-couple. This was some sort of obsession she had and it never left her alone: Finding out what other people didn't notice, especially when it was about love, especially when it concerned denied feelings, and especially when the people involved were her best friend and her partner. She still couldn't believe that she had advised Brennan to leave with Sully a year ago. A great guy who she knew truly loved her, but who, she knew it now, wasn't the right guy for her. Anyway, the event had allowed Angela to discover what should have always been obvious: Doctor Temperance Brennan and Agent Seeley Booth were meant to be together. And clearly, something had happened between December, 22nd and December, 24th. She could feel it, she had seen it, and she would prove it.

A kiss in her neck startled her back from her thoughts.

"Good morning, my exotic princess!"

"I heard you say that to an insect, Jack," she grumbled reproachfully, turning slightly in her chair to face her boyfriend.

"O-kay… My princess is grumpy this morning. Well, in my defense, I'm sure I didn't say it with this sensual loving tone," Hodgins teased.

She thought for a moment, trying to remember the scene, before she gave him a threatening smirk. "I'm not so sure, actually."

"Aw… How can I make you forgive me?"

He lifted the smooth, dark hair to gain access to the back of her neck and planted a lingering kiss on her soft skin.

"Jack, it's eight thirty!"

"Yeah, you're right. Cleopatra's bed is still there… Let's say, quarter to one?"

"I'm sorry, I promised to have dinner with Brenn," she said with a look of apology. "But you'll have plenty of time to make up for this tonight," she added with a naughty smile.

She finished her coffee while her fiancé took a seat next to her.

"You seem thoughtful, honey. Is everything all right?"

"You're gonna laugh at me."

"What? I would never dare to."

"Yeah, like you wouldn't," she said disbelievingly.

The begging look he shot her made her decide to give up. "Okay, then. I think that something's going on between Brennan and Booth. Actually, I'd stake my life on it."

Hodgins couldn't help an amused, slightly mocking smile. "You've been saying that for over a year, darling."

"I'm talking about something else."

He let out a chuckle. "You think they slept together?"

She screwed up her eyes. "Uhm… No, not yet. It's not about that kind of thing."

"Then, what?"

"I don't know. But I'll figure this out, believe me."

"Oh, I believe you."

"You can laugh at me, Jack, but you won't laugh anymore when you understand how right I am. Remember the stake?"

"Right. The stake."

He bit his lower lip, trying to keep himself from laughing and to compose himself a more serious look, but he failed. Angela rose, put her coffee cup in the sink before eyeing Hodgins scornfully.

"You may wanna prepare yourself, honey."

* * *

When she exchanged her lab coat for her classy wool coat to leave and have lunch with her best friend today, Temperance Brennan didn't anticipate that she'd be submitted to an interrogatory. But when Angela sat in front of her, her elbows on the table, staring at her with this curious smile, she began to think that she was missing something.

"So… What happened?"

Surprised about her friend's sudden interest for her work, she felt glad and prepared herself to explain the details of her research in Peru.

"Well, nothing really. I just dug up…"

"Not this, sweetie."

"Then what?"

"I'm talking about you and Booth."

"I don't see what you mean."

"I mean that obviously something happened between you two."

"I don't understand, what are you talking about?"

"Well, you tell me."

Brennan pursed her lips and shook her head. "I really don't see what you could possibly be alluding to."

"You're lying."

"What? No!"

"You've got this tic when you're lying."

"But I'm not!"

"It's a little like when you assured everyone that you chose not to sail away with Sully because you were not ready to leave things behind, you know. Or when you said that you didn't freak out when we left you with him at the altar. See what I mean? I told you we'd talk about it again. That's today. And believe me, I'm going to figure out wh—"

"It was totally sexless," she surrendered.

"What?" Angela's eyes grew wide. "What was sexless?"

"The kiss. It was just a favour I asked him as—"

"You two kissed?!" Angela almost squealed. Some people at the closest tables turned their heads, causing Brennan to grow uncomfortable.

"We weren't even alone, Caroline was—"

"Caroline saw you two kiss and I didn't?" she said indignantly.

"It was a deal I had with her. I had to kiss Booth under the mistletoe and in exchange, she made sure I'd have a trailer to create Christmas for my family."

"So you kissed him—"

"On the lips. Under the mistletoe. It was totally sexless."

Obviously, Angela had a hard time preventing herself from bursting out laughing. "Yeah, right. Was there tongue?"

It was Brennan's turn to squeal—indignantly, this time. "Angela!"

"Okay, no. Definitely not. So was it just a peck, or—"

"Five steamboats. That was the deal."

"I don't know what that means but it seems long enough."

"It was like kissing my brother," Brennan said very fast before scolding herself silently. Dammit. Angela would never buy that. If she could just stop saying stupid things.

"Your brother, uh?" Angela smiled mischievously. "Where was it?"

"In my office," Brennan answered with a guilty tone.

"You and Booth kissed in your office and I didn't know about it! Who else knows?"

"Sweets."

"What? I can't believe he knows and I don't."

"He's bound by professional secrecy."

"My lips are sealed, sweetie. My lips are sealed." Angela leaned across the table to get closer to her friend. "So, how was it to kiss Booth, really?"

Brennan sighed as a response, deciding not to say anything. But unfortunately, Angela decided not to let go, either.

"Remember sweetie: Zone of truth."

"Angela—I'm not in therapy right now, and you're not my therapist."

"I'm your best friend. Doesn't it count?" she said with begging eyes.

The furious glare she obtained from the forensic anthropologist reduced Angela to silence. But even if reading minds wasn't her strong suit, Brennan knew her friend well enough to figure out what made her eyes glow: The don't-you-ever-think-that-I-will-leave-you-alone look.

* * *

Booth huffed and put back in the drawer the file he had just finished dealing with. Paperwork. Oh how he hated this part of his job. Even visiting the squints at the Jeffersonian was more entertaining. What he liked was all that had to be done out of his office, actually. Field work. Field work with Bones. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and opened it. He displayed his list of contacts; the first name on the list was hers. Not her name, really, but the nickname he had given her. It was meant to be scornful, in the beginning. Now it had become a pet name, and a part of him liked to know he was the only one calling her this. She had hated it, in the beginning. Now she didn't protest anymore. Either had she got used to it, or she liked it.

His thumb hovered above the dial key before he closed the device. He had been doing that since the day before, wanting to call her and finally deciding that it would be better to try later. She had to be sleeping, or under the shower; she had to have things to do at home, or to be busy at work. It seemed to never be the right moment.

He hadn't had news from her since Christmas Eve. Not that he was worried, or that he was eager to hear what her trip to Peru had been like—who else really cared about digging up rotten bones besides Zach, anyway?—, but he was truly dying to talk to her. It was stupid, and it was annoying, but he somehow needed to hear her voice.

_Dammit._

Once more, he took the phone in his hands, opened it, but this time he actually dialled her number. He did it very fast, as if trying to stop himself from thinking.

First beep. What was he going to tell her, anyway? A wave of stress washed through him. Jeez, he had nothing to say except, "Hi, how're you, how was your trip?" She'd answer that it went really great, that she studied some very interesting—boring—remains. She would try to explain him the result of her studies and he wouldn't get half of it. But it wouldn't really matter.

And then the unavoidable question would come: "So, do we have a case?"

Second beep. Was he even supposed to call her when it wasn't about work? He had been wondering since the past two years. What were the rules? Were there even rules?

Well, fuck the rules.

Third beep. She had been the first one to break those rules, when she had decided that it was best obeying Caroline's will instead of letting him talk to her. But he had been the one hugging her when she was scared, the one talking about how two people become one when they make love, the one telling her that she was even better than Smurfette.

It was all Caroline's fault, anyway.

Answering machine. _"This is Doctor Temperance Brennan, I'm not—"_

He hung up before the message ended; in some sense, he had been able to hear her voice, true, but he had nothing to say to a stupid answering machine. Pissed, he dug the phone deep in the pocket of his jacket and ran his hand through his short hair with frustration. When he didn't know what to do with his hands anymore, he started tapping the wood of his desk nervously.

With a sigh, he raised his gaze to the door, suddenly aware that he was not alone. And there she was, like a magic apparition, standing in the doorframe with some paper in her hand. Time seemed to stop, and his heart, too. Curiously, it had been doing that the few times he had seen her since it had happened. And then his heart started beating again, only this time it pounded too fast and too hard inside his chest. It seemed that he'd be incapable of speaking at all. What was he, a fourteen-year-old virgin?

"Hey Bones!" he finally managed to greet her properly, having no idea as to how many seconds or minutes had passed since he had raised his gaze to her.

"Hey." She moved closer, a smile stretched across her lips.

"So—How was Peru?" was all he came up with to start the conversation. It was _her_ in _his_ office, after all.

"Very interesting," she said simply. It surprised him. She was more talkative about her work, usually. "How was Christmas with Parker?"

"Magical," he grinned. "What is it that you've got here?" he asked, pointing to the tickets.

"Well, I just thought I'd drop by here and give you my Christmas present for you," she explained with a shy smile that made her look so much more gorgeous.

She placed the tickets down on the desk right in front of him. He took them and read what was on them, then jumped to his feet with excitement. "The Yankees versus The Red Sox? Oh my God, it's—How did you know? I mean, the tickets were sold out in less than a day, and it's impossible to find any! And these are the best seats! Bones, how did you get these?"

"Well, let's say I've got connections," she said with a mysterious smile.

"Wow, that's wonderful!" During a moment, he wondered if she expected him to invite her, before deciding that he knew her well enough to figure out that she didn't exactly enjoy watching baseball matches. "Parker's gonna be so happy. I don't know what to say. Thank you _so_ much!"

He considered walking around the desk and taking her in his arms, but he didn't. They were in his office, at the FBI building. How inappropriate.

"No, thank _you_. You know, I—I think it's been the best Christmas of my life."

Her smile had turned to a different one. It was grateful, and a little sad. Booth understood that he was observing now what he had thought he could distinguish from a distance when he had brought her the Christmas tree: Tears in her eyes. Not the tears of fear or dread that he had already been able to observe some rare times. But tears of happiness; A happiness of which _he_ was the cause. For an instant, there was nothing left of the strong, independent woman. The one who said she wasn't that kind of person to belong to a family; the one who still hesitated about her father. At least, he had made her understand, and he was proud of that.

"You're very welcome. Actually, it was kinda fun to do that. Parker was really excited."

But not as much as _he_ had been. He had felt as if he was his son's age, then.

"Yeah, the girls were thrilled, too. Russ and Amy were so happy, and my father—" She shook her head and never finished her sentence. "It's all thanks to you, so, thank you."

He couldn't help thinking that in some sense she had had the trailer thanks to him, too. Her joy was definitely worth all his efforts, if letting her kiss him under the mistletoe could actually be called an effort.

"I'm glad you liked it," he smiled, and averted his eyes when he realised that an uncomfortable silence had settled between them.

_Awkward…_

Of course, that was to be expected.

"So, you hungry?"

_That's my girl._

He applauded her silently for being the one to fix the situation, for once. In truth, he wasn't exactly hungry, but it didn't matter. He had barely paid attention to the taste of his hamburgers when they had been eating together, lately.

"Sure!"

He grabbed his coat and followed her through the corridor with enthusiasm. If he didn't enjoy the taste of meat as much as before, he might as well follow her advice and consider becoming a vegetarian.

* * *

_**A/N : Any comments are welcome, and reviews always make me happy. Hopefully chapter 4 will be ready for next Friday but I can only promise I'll do my best!**_


	5. Best

_**A/N : **__**Hey people! I'm really sorry for making you wait this long but I was in Bora Bora with Seeley Booth, that's why you thought that he was dead by the way, but I just stole him for some time. The truth is, as I said, I'll move soon, plus I had some annoying car problems, so life has been quite crazy lately, and it's not going to change soon, but I'm doing my best and it's a good transition as it's the title of this chapter. Good reading !**_

* * *

**Chapter 4 – Best**

* * *

_**Monday, January 6th**_

* * *

"So, how was Peru?"

A polite attempt from her partner to start a conversation, Brennan thought. Just like Angela, who began talking about what she liked on purpose to get straight into a more embarrassing subject. She still couldn't believe that she had been caught out like a beginner.

She was chewing on the salad that was in her mouth and swallowed it before she answered, saving her enough time to think about it.

"You're not expecting me to explain to you what I found, right?" she said after she finished chewing on her next bite and swallowed the salad that was in her mouth.

"Yes, I do," he said, looking surprised.

She screwed up her eyes, took her time to decide whether he was telling the truth or not, and gave him a mischievous smile eventually.

"You're lying. You always ask me questions about my work out of courteousness, but when I answer, you don't really listen."

"I do listen to you!" he asserted indignantly.

"You pretend to do so by saying 'yes, sure' regularly, but in truth you're thinking about something else, like what you're eating." She watched him slowly placing back his hamburger on his plate, puzzled, before she concluded, "That's what you do."

"No, Bones, it's not! I swear to you it's not," Booth protested in an attempt to defend himself.

"That's what you do, Booth, and you know what, I really think that we should talk about it with Sweets."

"What? Why would we even discuss this with Sweets?"

"Because we report to him everything that affects our professional relationship, and this behaviour of yours affects our professional relationship."

"We're not discussing this with Sweets," he declared in a stubborn tone.

"But— He's there to help us, Booth!"

"I thought you hated psychology."

"Yes but I admit that Sweets can be helpful."

"Helpful to find somebody who's on your side when you've got something on me."

"That's not true, Booth!"

"He's on your side because he's got five doctorates like you and Zach."

"I only have two doctorates and Zach has three," she corrected, out of habit, before wondering if it was really necessary.

"Exactly what I was saying."

"No, you said that we had five doctorates, which is wrong," she insisted, ignoring the waitress who had stopped next to their table to see if she could clear their plates. "Besides, people with more than four doctorates are very rare because—"

Brennan stopped herself as the waitress cleared her throat.

"I'm done with this," Booth grumbled, pointing at the content of his plate.

"Dessert?" the waitress asked with a polite smile.

"Yeah, a slice of cherry pie, thanks."

When the waitress turned her gaze to Brennan, the latter grimaced slightly. "No, thanks. I find it too sweet."

"You know Bones," Booth began when the woman was out of earshot, "you're not obliged to point out such kinds of things."

"Why do you suddenly feel like you're being persecuted? You often tell Sweets what you dislike in me, too!"

"I'm talking about the pie," he specified.

"Oh. Why can't I say that I don't like it?"

"Because it's not polite."

"Why? I'm only telling the truth. I'm sure a lot of people think like me who just don't dare point it out to the staff of the diner."

"And some others, such as myself, like this pie just the way it is," Booth retorted.

"Too much sugar isn't—" a deadly glare from her partner warned her that she had better not continue, so she just let out a frustrated sigh as a plate with a generous slice of cherry pie was put in front of him.

"Any regrets, Bones?" he mocked her, grasping the spoon.

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, feeling hurt. In truth, she was angrier at herself than at him. Most of the time, their usual bickering was sort of fun. Sometimes, though, it became annoying, and she became surprisingly emotional. Sometimes, she had the disturbing feeling that it was all her fault. There was this gap between her and the world, between her way to comprehend things and her partner's. She had always been aware of this. She didn't mind it before; now she understood how it could affect their relationship. And she had come to hate herself for being unable to fill this gap.

"Bones, are you sulking or something?"

Startled back from her thoughts, she raised her eyes to meet his, and realised that instead of eating he had been staring at her with his spoon hanging in mid-air.

"I don't sulk," she mumbled.

He gave her a smile, looking reassured, and she smiled back, surprised. Had he actually been worried about upsetting her?

She let her gaze follow his hand as he dug the spoon in the pie to cut a share. But before he was able to swallow it, his phone rang, making him groan with annoyance.

"Booth. Yeah. Okay. Yeah, she's with me. We'll be there."

He hung up with a bothered sigh and she couldn't help feeling amused at his sheepish look.

"No dessert for tonight, Bones. A body's waiting for us."

She couldn't help feeling slightly excited, either. A case, at last. Work was waiting for them, and it was what they did best.

* * *

The second his feet met the ground of the dump, Booth felt suddenly happy that he hadn't eaten the pie. The place was a real hell. The smell was so strong that it was almost impossible to notice that a body was slowly decomposing somewhere among the garbage. A hell for him; a paradise for Hodgins. The thought made him smile briefly.

After making sure that Brennan was still next to him, he kept making his way among the rotten food and rusty items, watching his step carefully, trying to forget that the stench made him close to vomit out the dinner which he had just enjoyed. His partner walked past him, for she didn't care ruining the rubber boots she always kept in the trunk of his SUV with all her stuff. Maybe was he silly to refuse wearing similar shoes, but looking ridiculous was something he hated.

When he saw her stop and bend, he lowered his gaze and pointed his flashlight to the ground. From what remained of the victim's body and clothes, he could only presume that she was female. There wasn't enough left of her for him to determine whether she had been young or old, Caucasian or African-American, plain or beautiful. But as she loved to claim, Temperance Brennan was the best in her field, and Angela Montenegro wasn't bad either.

"Female, Caucasian. Early thirties," the forensic anthropologist announced. She crouched and extended her latex-gloved hand to the victim's head. "Looks like she had blond hair, but we still have to check. A lot of women die their hair." Standing next to her, he watched her examining the remains. It was something like the three-hundredth time, but each time, he couldn't help feeling amazed. Nothing else seemed to exist for her except the body. As always, the way she acted at the crime scene was so perfect, so professional, as though the smell didn't bother her, as though she didn't mind working among disgusting garbage.

"The marks on her wrists indicate that she was tied up."

He turned his attention back to the poor dead girl lying among the trash. There was something curious about her, but he couldn't quite identify it.

"I can see marks on her neck, too. I think she's been strangled but we need further studies at the lab to confirm that."

Placing her hands on her knees, she rose and stepped back, allowing him to get a better view of the body.

"Wait—" That was it. Her clothes. "Wait wait wait. You said early thirties?"

"That's what I said."

"You sure 'bout that?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed to express her annoyance; then, without a word, she accepted to take another look at the body. It was something he knew she wouldn't have done for anybody else but him. He loved to think about how much he had grown on her since they had started working together a couple of years ago. She had lost this haughty, cold look she had with everyone she wasn't sure that she could trust. Sometimes, she even took a risk by confiding in him, which he knew wasn't that easy for her. With him, she wasn't Doctor Brennan; she was Temperance.

"Yes, I'm sure," she asserted after another quick study of the remains.

"But, Bones, look, she's wearing a cheerleader outfit. It doesn't make sense."

She took a closer look at the victim's clothes, something she hadn't been paying attention to before, then shrugged, as if it didn't strike her as abnormal.

"Maybe this is a costume. Maybe she was going to a party," she shrugged and got rid of her latex gloves.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Maybe. Or maybe the killer dressed her like that."

"Why would he do that?"

Obviously eager to leave this place, Booth wrapped his arm around his partner's shoulders and led her away from the body, indicating that they were done here, and that they could leave the rest of the dirty job to the people who were paid for it.

"Sweets' field of expertise."

* * *

"… in a dump near Washington DC."

He turned around quickly and his body froze, his eyes glued to the TV screen. He had known this time would come. He had been expecting this for so long. He had just been hoping that it would come at the right moment. At last, his work was on the news. He couldn't help feeling important at how excited the journalist was; he wondered who of the two of them was most excited, actually. It was silly, childish, but so enjoyable. He was on the news. Public enemy number one. The centre of attention. Someone dangerous, someone hated, but someone important.

"Authorities have accepted to reveal a curious detail: it just so happens that the victim, a woman in her early thirties, was wearing a cheerleader outfit. If you have any information about a missing person who could match this woman, please contact the following—"

He was eager to see how long it would take for them to identify her. She would be but the first one. It was so not over. They were not stupid. They had to be dreading that it was only the beginning of a series of murders. And it was. If only they knew. The journalists, the TV channels, he would give them so much more to say, so much more to show, that they should already thank him. These people were all hypocrites. They pretended to be horrified, but inwardly, the creepier it was, the happier they were.

He wondered if, at some point, the women of this city would be so scared that they wouldn't dare to go out alone anymore. The police, the FBI, would hate him. The families of the victims would wish he'd rot in hell. But about this, he didn't care. He was doing what he had to do.

He lit a cigarette and relaxed in his comfortable leather armchair.

They would try to set up a profile that would never match him, try to figure out who he really was and why he was doing this, and why he was doing it in this way. They would come up with elaborate theories, they would try to enter his mind, try to trap him in his own games. He knew how profilers worked. He wondered how long it would take for them to understand, how close to the truth they would get. Would they realise how careful and rigorous he was? Hopefully, they would never end up with him. He had made sure they wouldn't. But if they were that smart, then he would be waiting for them. He had prepared himself for that, too. But until then, he would do what he had to do. Until then, there would be a long way. A long period of a cat and mouse game he already enjoyed.

His lips stretched in a small smile and he let out a contented sigh.

A long, long way.

People used to call him a loser. Now, they looked at his success with admiration and envy. But it was not enough for revenge; murder was better justice. He had just discovered that he liked it, and that he was pretty good at it. In fact, it was probably what he did best.

* * *

_**A/N : In next chapter there will be a part with Sweets. I love this character, he's so for BB romance!! I haven't written about him yet, so I'm impatient to know what you'll think about it! I hope it'll be ready for next week end. It's likely to be, but I can't promise anything. Have a nice week-end!**_


	6. So much more

_**A/N : **__**Happy Sunday! Last time I told you this chapter would contain a part with Sweet's POV. Actually, just like in the show, he'll help our favorite investigators by setting a profile of the killer. And just like in the show, he's for BB, all the way. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter!**_

* * *

**Chapter 5 ****– So much more**

* * *

_**Tuesd**__**ay, January 7th**_

Doctor Lance Sweets didn't mind being mocked. As the youngest psychologist in the FBI, he had got used to it. Besides, his multiple degrees and studies made it easy for him to understand what was hidden behind those laughs and sarcasms. With an undergraduate psych degree from the university of Toronto, a master's degree in abnormal psychology from Temple University and several doctorates in clinical psychology and behavioural analysis, Doctor Sweets was also the more accomplished psychologist in the FBI.

His smile grew wider when he heard the brief knock on the door, and he rose as his next—and favourite—therapy patients entered. Doctor Brennan went in first, her eyes a bit clouded by an obvious lack of sleep due to a sleepless night spent in examining bones; Agent Booth followed, covering up a yawn with his hand over his mouth. Today was not a regular therapy session. There was a case, and he would have to work on the killer's profile. The best part of his job.

What he liked the most after that was studying the behaviour of what he considered to be the coolest team: the best agent in Washington and one of the most famous forensic anthropologists in the world. Agent Booth's usual mocking was an innate way of defending himself against the people that made him uncomfortable; Doctor Brennan's constant references to complicated scientific facts helped her hide her emotions and her vulnerability. Besides being pretty funny, their constant bickering was for them the best way they had found to express their emotional attachment.

"Agent Booth, Doctor Brennan," he greeted them cheerfully. "So, how can I help you?"

The photos which were spread out on his desk were almost unbearable to look at, but he was used to this, too. As a professional, he knew how to remain detached without becoming insensitive for all this.

"The preliminary studies we made tonight indicate that the victim has been tortured before dying of strangulation," Brennan summed up.

"Uhm… That's interesting." Sweets leafed through the forensic report. "The marks on the bones of the face indicate that her face has been lacerated. The killer's in rage. He got rid of her body in a dump, so he despises her or what she represented. Beauty, wealth, power. There are many possibilities. Do we have the victim's identity yet?"

"Not yet," Booth answered.

"Angela's working on it," Brennan added.

"Well, I'm gonna work on what we've got for now. How's it going besides this?"

He watched them exchange looks. He was aware of them finding his energy silly and childish, but if they really thought he was too young to be good at his job, they wouldn't come to him when they needed a profiler. Their attitude was but a defense against who they knew was able to read them, both individually and as a team. They were two professionals, they were also proud people. They didn't like to let show how emotionally attached they were. Doctor Brennan didn't even want to admit it to herself. The need of somebody else was a concept which she stubbornly refused, although she seemed to have made some progress since their first sessions. As for Agent Booth, he was more easily readable, a more simple personality.

"I'll do better once I've been able to find some sleep," Booth moaned.

"Stop complaining, Booth," Brennan said reproachfully. "This girl deserves for us to find out the truth and her family—"

"I know, right? It's just hard to focus when you haven't slept for over twenty-four hours."

"I haven't slept for over twenty-seven hours and I'm still able to concentrate."

"Yeah but you, Bones, are a robot."

She let out a mirthless laugh in response. "Excuse me? I—"

The ringing of her cell phone cut her off, but didn't keep Booth from gaining himself a deadly glare as she fumbled through her purse.

"Brennan. Hi, Angela. Okay, good. Great job, you've been quick. We're on our way. Bye."

"We've got an identity," she announced after hanging up.

"Okay… Well, I guess you have to go back to work, right?" Sweets sighed. "A killer's on the loose. A family needs to know the truth. The session's over, I understand."

Waving him a triumphant good bye, Booth walked to the door, guiding his partner with him with his hand placed on the small of her back, as usual. A gesture of control and of protection. She was the brain of the team and he was in charge of keeping them safe. But they were so much more than that.

* * *

Sandy Adams, age 33. Address: 102, Roosevelt Street, Washington D.C. Single. No children. Medical assistant.

With a sigh, Brennan put the photo of the blond, pretty woman, back into the folder which contained all the elements of the case.

Sandy Adams, 33, 5.4 feet, 114 pounds. Blond hair, blue eyes. Disappeared December 26th, 2007.

It all felt wrong. She was so much more than that.

Sandy Adams, beloved daughter of Jake and Nicole Adams. Little sister of Samantha Adams Greyson. Attentive aunt of two lovely young boys who will miss her, too.

No, she wasn't just a case; she wasn't just remains. She wasn't just bones, hairs, or putrefied flesh. She had a story. They all had a story; they all had secrets. Some of them had enemies; most of them had a family. The saddest was when they weren't missed; when nobody cried at their funerals. But worse was to work on those unidentified corpses stored in what Angela liked to call limbo. She had never liked this word. Actually, she hated it. Her mother had spent too much time in there.

"Bones, you okay?"

"Yep," she lied reassuringly with a firm nod. She didn't bother smiling, though. She wasn't that kind of women.

"You'd tell me if you knew her, right?"

She frowned confusedly. "Who?"

"The victim," Booth specified.

"I don't know her," she asserted.

"Good."

"Why did you ask that?"

"I don't know. Because you looked—I don't know. Sad. I thought that maybe you had known this girl and, you know, that you needed a little comfort."

She shrugged. "I'm sad. I'm sad for this woman and her family. Aren't you?"

"Yes. Of course I am. I always am."

He gave her a smile, a gentle, comforting smile, to which she replied slightly. She liked that when he gave her this look; she couldn't help it. There was this part in her which needed to be cared about. By him, especially. Her partner, her friend. She sometimes tried to deny it, but in vain. It was very rational, anyway. After all they had gone through together, all that they had shared, he couldn't be just a partner anymore. After three years, he had become so much more than that.

"I can't believe it. I mean, we knew there was little hope, but—"

It was the second part of his work which Booth hated. Facing the family, their eyes filled with expectation and always a little hope that the news was not inevitably bad. Muttering the words they had been dreading to hear for days, sometimes months, sometimes years. Watching them open their mouths in shock, sometimes cry, sometimes scream. Now, it shouldn't affect him that much anymore. But it still did, as much as before.

"Mr. and Mrs. Adams, is there something about your daughter you think would be important for the investigation?"

"I told her it was dangerous," the mother began before bursting into sobs again.

"Our daughter was meeting men on the internet, and when she thought they were interesting enough, she met them in real life."

"We warned her, believe me. But she said that nowadays, it's a good way to meet somebody, and that there was no reason to be afraid," the mother explained between her tears.

"It has indeed been proved that the Internet is an efficient way of meeting a soul mate," Brennan couldn't help commenting. "The statistics are really disclosing."

He wished she was able to understand when she could and could not talk about statistics and scientific studies.

"She was 33, but she was still dreaming of Prince Charming, you know," the mother kept going. "We all are."

"Prince Charming is a childish—"

This time, Booth forced his partner to cut herself off with a violent kick in the tibia which reminded her painfully but efficiently that in some situations you'd better keep your thoughts and comments to yourself. She threw him a deadly glare all the same, and he answered by a 'you-deserved-it' look before he turned to the mother who was having a hard time stopping herself from sobbing while her husband, his arm wrapped around her shoulder comfortingly, was doing his best to remain calm.

"We'll study the content of your daughter's computer," Booth said. "We'll need the names of her closest friends."

Mr. Adams rose. "I'll give you the phone number of her friend Meredith."

"Sandy and Meredith did everything together," Ms. Adams added.

Booth got to his feet, taking the piece of paper that the father was handing him. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_, Agent Booth. Thank you for searching the bastard who did this to our daughter."

Thank you. Those two words always felt wrong. He didn't deserve them. Because the killer was still on the loose. And because whatever he did, nothing would bring back these people's daughter.

He climbed in the car and inserted the key in the ignition without starting the car. He glanced at his partner instead. They looked silently at each other for a moment before Brennan talked first. But she didn't open her mouth to reproach him for her aching leg.

"I know it makes you sad, Booth. I wish we could do something to ease their pain, but we can't. And you can't blame yourself for that."

He felt his heart tighten and fill with gratefulness at the same time, a feeling he had got used to. She wasn't the cold, insensitive scientist he had thought she was when they first met anymore. She had never been this person.

"It would be completely irrational of you to blame yourself for that," she ended.

He said nothing but gave her a warm smile before he turned on the ignition. No, she was so much more than that. He just wished that a look and a smile were enough for her to understand.

* * *

He remembered it as if it had happened the day before. The gymnasium resounding with the joyful babbling of the pom pom girls; their handsome blue, white and red costumes. Their cries, their somersaults, their laughs and their mocking. He remembered very well what she had been like, too, with her long blond hair tied in a ponytail. She hadn't been clever enough to do prestigious studies like her older sister, but she was nimble and graceful enough to be chosen as cheerleader. Back then, her dream was to be a dancer, but to please mom and dad she had gone to university. And ended up a medical assistant. Boring job, boring life, so far from what she imagined when she was 18. Obviously, being pretty isn't enough.

His own professional life was far from boring, and even more entertaining to him had been her last moments on this earth. His favorite part was the moment she had understood who he was. Funnily, 15 years after, she remembered him, somehow.

"You thought I was just a freak, Sandy, but I was so much more. So much more."

* * *

_**A/N : Creepy guy, right? I hope I'm not doing too much with the killer's POV. He's just some kind of Gil Bates (remember him? Lol) who managed to take his revenge on life, but it wasn't enough for him, obviously. I can't promise you when I'll update with next chapter, as my beta Catherine is on holidays until the end of the week, but I'll do my best to finish chapter 6 quick so that she can correct it as soon as she comes back. We'll learn more about the case, and I can already tell you that there will be an interesting part with Cam. Enjoy your day, and good luck for your week!**_


	7. Stupid but true

_**A/N : I'm so sorry that it took me SO long to update. The truth is, life has been really crazy lately, plus I had somehow lost my mojo... But now, my mojo's back, so hopefully I still have some readers who'll enjoy the following! Good reading :)**_

* * *

**Chapter 6 – Stupid but true**

* * *

_**Tuesday, January 7th**_

* * *

Meredith Stove was a tall, brown-haired, dark-eyed woman in her early thirties. Her apartment, in the centre of D.C., was small but cosy and well-decorated. Actually, her place was nice if you liked purple colours, which could be found pretty much all over the place: purple curtains, purple cushions, purple decorating candles, purple dishes on the shelves of the small kitchen. No way was her bedroom going to be blue, Booth thought with a smile. He himself simply hated this colour. A sign that no man was living here, no doubt, Brennan noted. She let her eyes linger on a picture of Meredith and Sandy raising champagne glasses with huge smiles. New Year's Eve celebration, it seemed. They looked like two happy, beautiful young women in that photo. They looked like 'problem' was a banished word from their lives, which she knew had to be far from reality. It was never the case. People always looked happy in pictures. They always looked miserable when interrogated. Future would tell how honest it was.

"Where were you the night your friend Sandy disappeared?" Booth began with a gentle, reassuring voice. For sure, he knew how to talk to people. She envied this talent, sometimes. She was that cold, tactless lady scientist people either feared or despised. Sometimes both. He was the nice FBI guy people trusted. Since they had started working together, she had been trying to observe him, to learn from him. At first, she wouldn't admit it, not even to herself; what could one of the most talented scientists in the country possibly learn from an average law enforcement guy? Now, she wouldn't mind anymore; she had a lot to learn. Stuff that had nothing to do with figures, anthropology or science. She had begun to understand that there was no point in being the best in her field if people admired her knowledge but despised her cold and haughty demeanour. She didn't need this detachment as much as before; she didn't need this protection anymore. Russ was back. Max was back. She had a family again.

"I was home. Sick. The flu. I was annoyed, because we had planned to go out."

"Where?"

Brennan glanced at the handsome profile of her partner, and when this made her forget the case and think back of the kiss they had shared two weeks before, she decided to concentrate on the woman. She was her age. She had just lost her best friend. How could she possibly remain insensitive to that? A knot formed in her stomach as she wondered how she'd feel if she lost Angela this way.

"In a trendy bar in the centre, I'll give you their card. We had been going there every Friday night since about two years ago. A lot of single people go there, mostly men and, you know—"

Brennan raised an eyebrow, as a sign that actually she didn't know.

"Those guys are mostly wealthy, you know. All right, I know what you're thinking. But we weren't that kind of girls, l swear."

"I don't know what you're talking about—What kind of girls?" Brennan asked, truly intrigued.

Meredith licked her lips with embarrassment, wondering if it was the tactic of the interrogation or if the woman was being sarcastic.

"The kind of girls who're looking for rich husbands to stop working and live a comfortable life. Our jobs aren't that thrilling and they don't bring in a lot, but we stand by our independence. Anyway, I told her to go without me, have fun. I should—I should have told her not to go there alone."

"Did you have a reason to fear for her going there alone?"

"No, not exactly. It's just that we never go out alone. You don't know what can happen in some dark street, at three in the morning. Some weeks ago, I read in the newspapers that a girl had been raped in the area and—Well, let's say that it's not really reassuring, right? It can happen to anybody. But she had had a tough week at work, and she needed to relax. So she went alone, anyway. The day after, I expected her to call me, tell me everything about her night. We—we used to share a lot, you know."

She stopped for a moment, swallowing a sob. Both partners waited patiently and respectfully for her to go on.

"It wasn't like her not to call me. I thought that maybe she was busy, or maybe her boss had called her at the last moment and she had to go to work, it sometimes happened on Saturdays. But I couldn't help thinking that—and obviously I was right— that something might have happened, you know. So I called her several times, left her messages. But she wouldn't call me back. So I went to her place, nobody responded. I called to her working place, and they assured me that she wasn't there. I really began to freak out. I hesitated but finally decided to call her parents, but she wasn't with them either, and they hadn't heard from her since several days. I felt guilty somehow, because they trust me, they felt how worried I was. They decided to call the police."

Brennan turned her eyes to her partner, somehow waiting for his permission to talk. Usually, she didn't need any permission to say what she had to say; she just took that right. But with him, things were different. She respected his field of expertise, and she respected him.

"Do you know if Sandy was meeting someone in particular that night?" she asked after he invited her with a slight nod.

"No. I mean, no, she didn't. I told you, we had planned to go together, girls night, without a date. But maybe she met somebody there."

"Mr and Mrs Adams said that they were concerned about their daughter dating men on the Internet."

"Oh, no, not really. She did it once, and it was a total disaster. We agreed on stopping using the Internet. We preferred to sit at the bar, you know, waiting for some handsome guys to offer us a drink, and maybe more."

She sniffed, got to her feet and fumbled in a drawer before she pulled out a small card.

"That's the bar we used to go," she said, handing it to Booth. "Please find the bastard who did this to my friend."

Meredith's imploring gaze shifted to Brennan.

"You can't imagine how much I miss her. Or maybe you can, if you're as close to someone as I was to her. We were like sisters, I feel so lost without her. I—I guess I still don't fully realise that I will never see her again."

Brennan couldn't help feeling uncomfortable when the woman let out another sob. She wasn't good at comforting another person. She never found the right words, or at least, feared that she wouldn't.

"I never had a friend like her."

Now that was a stupid fact: you realise how precious something is when you lose it. You live your life, taking everything you have for granted. You don't see why it wouldn't last forever, so you don't bother making efforts. After she had lost her parents, Brennan remembered having first reproached herself for not having told them that she loved them enough. Then, she had decided not to say it to anyone, anymore. It was easier, safer. A way to make sure she wouldn't lose anything more.

"And I can already tell you that I never will."

Stupid. But so true.

* * *

He had a million things to do, but sometimes it just felt so good to pretend that time wasn't important; that he could stay like this forever, his eyes fixed on her, leaned over her bones, and nobody would notice; that he had discovered a new passion for forensic anthropology—was is that unbelievable?--, or that he needed to stay here while waiting for new results, new details. Or whatever.

He wondered if she sometimes thought about it. The kiss. The damned kiss that kept him awake every night, that tormented him even more when they were left alone with each other. Stupidly, he expected her to raise her gaze from the skeleton, to him. A smile. Please... Please, just a quick one, but just for him. It would have made his day. But it never happened. Yet, he stayed still, his side leaned on the wall, because somehow, she was keeping him mesmerised, and it was keeping him from moving. Until Zach entered and ruined the moment—their moment.

"Doctor Brennan, I have the results you asked me for."

At last, she raised her head, but not to look at him. "Yes?"

Now he was jealous of Zach. Stupid, but true.

"The metacarpals show a…"

He turned his attention away from the conversation and unconsciously stepped to the door. He sucked at understanding this gibberish, anyway. He didn't belong in the world of the squints, and never would.

"How long?"

Seeley Booth turned around, only to find himself face to face with his co-worker and former lover Camille Saroyan, a self-satisfied smile lightening her beautiful features.

"What?"

"How long?"

"How long what?" he asked, the look on her face already beginning to exasperate him without him really knowing why.

"How long have you been in love with her?"

He sighed inwardly. Since Caroline obliged them to kiss in Bones' office. He just couldn't get this out of his mind. The mere thought made his heart race and his lips burn.

Although he had known her long enough to be aware that she could read him like an open book and was rarely mistaken, he attempted to feign surprise.

"What?"

"How long have you been in love with her, uh?"

He pretended to be surprised.

"With who?"

She pinched her lower lip, to keep herself from smiling mockingly at him, maybe.

"You know with who. And you know perfectly who I'm talking about, Seeley," she said in a lower voice, as if him being in love with his partner was the most logical thing ever. Only-- was she actually talking about Bones?

"Okay, then, if you wanna play this game. I'm talking about Doctor Brennan."

Damn it. She was.

"What are y—What? Listen Cam, I don't know where that comes from but I'm not in love," he retorted with a nervous laugh, emphasising on each word.

"I'm disappointed. I thought we were friends. Friends are supposed to—"

He grabbed her arm and forced her to leave the room.

"God, what makes you think that I'm in love with— Bones?" His voice unfortunately sounded more embarrassed than the casual tone he had intended to use.

She shrugged. "I don't know. The way you look at her, for example. Or the way you talk to her. The way you behave around her… I'm fine with it, by the way."

He chuckled. "So now I need your agreement for this kind of things?"

"So you admit it?"

"Stop screaming!" he said with a low voice, offended. "People could hear us."

"People like Doctor Brennan?" She raised her eyebrows and her smile grew wider. "Oh, I understand now. She doesn't know, right?"

"She—Cam, I promise you I—"

The threatening tone in his voice failed at frightening her for her mischievous smile didn't disappear.

"Tsss tsss. I'm the boss here. You can't do anything to me without consequences."

But she had to have understood that she had reached the limit as she laid a friendly hand on his shoulder and seemed about to go back to her occupations and leave him alone.

"If you need any help, you know, a piece of advice…"

She stepped away, her usually pleasant but this time annoying laugh ringing in the corridor.

"Damn it," he mumbled to himself.

He kicked the wall, then hoped that nobody had seen him do it. Nobody paid attention to him in here, anyway. Except the annoying ones who couldn't help gossip. He stepped in the frame of the door. She was still there, still busy giving her assistant instructions, using a lot of those words he didn't understand. He sighed and left the room, his hands in his pockets.

Was it that obvious?

* * *

It wasn't a gut feeling.

She had worked on so many cases now, seen so many horrors, that is was mere deduction. This kind of murder rarely comes alone. She knew that Booth thought the same, even if he wouldn't admit it out loud.

When the phone rang, she didn't smile, thinking "I knew it", because there was nothing funny about it, and nothing to be proud about; she didn't sigh either, wishing she could go home and get some sleep instead of being obliged to go out in the cold winter night. But it was her job. So she just got up from the couch, put her warmest wool coat on and grabbed her wallet, already prepared to face the horrors she'd encounter outside.

* * *

_**A/N : Thanks for reading! If you liked it, and even if you didn't, maybe you could take a few minutes and tell me what you thought. It always makes writers happy, and it helps them improve. Stupid, but true!! Next chapter is already being written so I think I can promise it to you for next week. Have a good day!**_


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